


Hold On (I'm Never Letting Go)

by smallbeans



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Car Accidents, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Nogitsune Trauma, POV Derek, Post-Season/Season 3B, Stilinski Family Feels, Worried Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2016-12-13
Packaged: 2018-09-06 01:45:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8729785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallbeans/pseuds/smallbeans
Summary: When the broken voice of his son came through the radio, John knew something was wrong.Or, Stiles is in a car crash and the only way for them to communicate with him is through Lydia's phone and the radio in his Jeep.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off episode 1x22 in the series Scorpion (If you haven't seen it, download netflix and watch the first season because this show is da bomb!) But, yeah, this is very clearly inspired by that episode :)
> 
> Enjoy! ♡

To put it simply, Derek was a mess. He was pacing, running his claws hands through his hair despite them still being covered in the blood of that freaking rogue alpha that had ruined pack night but none of that matter because _Stiles was missing._

They’d been looking all night, scavenging through the woods like children during a Easter Egg hunt, but Stiles was no where in sight. His phone was going unanswered, and his scent had washed away during the nights pouring rain. Dealing with the rogue had been quick and easy, despite Derek getting drenched in the wolfs blood, but yet again, Derek couldn’t think about that while Stiles was out there somewhere, not answering his phone for even Lydia or his father.

The sheriff was as a mess as Derek was, muttering strings of curses when each phone call went unanswered. John was probably as confused as Derek was as to why Stiles had disappeared, though Derek’s first assumption was that the rogue wolf had hurt him, accept the wolf had not a single fragment of Stiles’ scent on him.

"Still no luck?" John asked Lydia as they walked, the sun was beginning to rise now, they’d been walking all night. Lydia shook her head, frowning.

"What could have happened to him?" Isaac asked, and he sounded genially confused and sad.

"I thought he was meeting us at the house?" Malia asked, referring to the newly built pack house in the preserve that Derek had constructed over the summer.

"Thats what he told me," Scott said, and Isaac nodded in agreement.

John sighed heavily. "Why can’t you just. . . smell him?"

"The rain has washed away his scent," Derek said. "It’s completely gone, which means it must have been weak before. He wasn't here last night, not even close."

"Then he must have been driving," Lydia replied. "We should check the roads."

Agreeing, they moved to the outskirts of the Reserve and searched. They walked miles, the plain pavement showing no signs of Stiles or his Jeep. John continued to call Stiles until his phone died, to which John roughly shoved his phone into his uniform pocket. They’d phoned him a few hours ago while he’d been at the station, telling him about Stiles’ disappearance and he was at the Hale house in minutes, demanding an explanation.

It wasn’t until they rounded a corner, coming to the cliff edge with the long, windy road, that they were starting to give up. The rain had stopped a while before, but the scents were still masked from the dusky smell of natural water and sodden dirt.

"I'll phone him again," Lydia said, and everyone murmured in agreement. Moments later, the low hum of the ringing came from her phone that she has pressed to her ear.

"Wait," Isaac said suddenly. "Do you. . . do you hear that?"

"Hear wh—" Malia cut herself off when Derek help up a finger.

Derek focused his hearing, his enhanced ears tuning in to one impeccable sound. And then he heard it.

The ringing of Stiles' phone.

"Derek? Scott? What do you hear?" The Sheriff asked with urgency, he was looking at the wolves with a panicked expression, but Derek didn't look at him. He started moving, following the line of sound and he found himself inching closer towards the cliff edge.

"Oh, no," Lydia was the first to say when the sight of the guard rails running along side the edge of the cliff came into view. The only problem being there was a large chunk of the metal rails missing, black tire marks marking the road before it.

Derek felt his heart plummet. He didn’t realise he was running until he dashed past the broken barrier and was looking over the rocky cliff edge.

Derek almost dropped at the sight he saw. Below, at least 100 feet hundred down from the top of the cliff, was the sight of a baby blue jeep, nose down. The Jeep was almost on its side, tipping dangerously. It was on a second cliff edge, beyond that was what Derek could only assume as another high drop. From what Derek could see, the Jeep was completely beat up.

Stiles had driven over the freaking cliff edge.

Derek listened for a heartbeat, for breathing, for _something_ to show him that Stiles was alive in there. After a moment, he detected the sound of a sluggish heartbeat that was slowly picking up the pace as a sign that whoever was inside the car was crawling back to consciousness.

Derek heard a muffled groan and a sharp intake in breath, the heartbeat rapidly rising in what Derek could only assume was panic and pain.

Lydia, who was standing beside Derek, looked down at her phone as the ringing stopped. She gasped, bringing it to her ear quickly. "Stiles? Stiles! Calm down, you need to calm down. Stiles, do you hear me?"

Derek listened is as Stiles rabbited frantic noises and panic.

"Lydia! Lydia, I c-can't— oh god, I'm gonna—"

"Stiles, listen to me. You and your jeep are balanced on a cliffs edge, okay? One wrong move and you'll fall 300 feet."

"That probably wasn't a wise thing to tell him." Isaac muttered, and Derek restrained the glare.

Lydia, however, did flashed him a glare, speaking over him through the phone. "Stay very, very still, Stiles."

"Holy shit," Stiles squeaked, his panicked voice coming through the phone unusually high.

Derek felt his heart clench. The sight of the Jeep, inches away from plummeting towards a convoy of rocks. The thought of Stiles, his mate, inside that death can made his wolf howl and growl.

John snatched the phone out of Lydia's hand. "Stiles—"

"Dad?" Stiles cried. "Dad, I can't—"

"Stiles," John cut him off calmly. "You're going to be fine. Stiles, calm down."

"I c-c-can't. Oh, God— dad, I don't. . . I don't want to die." Stiles let out a sob that shook Derek to his core. His mate was suffering, and Derek couldn't do a damn thing about it.

He's never felt so helpless.

"He's having a panic attack," John said, voicing the cause of Stiles' progressing ragged breathing, wheezes and chokes. Derek felt his muscles tense like a vice grip. He snatched the phone, plucking it from John's hand and pressing it to his ear.

"Stiles," he said, suddenly lost for words. Stiles' cries were so much clearer now. More direct and hurtful.

"D-d-derek-k?" Stiles hiccuped. "Derek, it-it h-hurts. I c-can't bre-ath—"

"Stiles, listen to me. You need to breath, okay, baby? Listen to my voice, pattern your breathing. I know you can do it," Derek talked him through it, but really, Derek had no idea what he was doing. He'd only ever talked Stiles down from a panic attack once, and that was after he woke up from a nightmare when he slept over. But even then, not only was Stiles safe in his bed, but Derek also had the advantage of physical touch and affection. He can't rub Stiles' back now, or hold him close, or place his palm above his heart so Stiles could feel the rhythmic beating.

Slowly, Derek began to hear his breaths pick up a pattern, slowing just enough for him to actually pull in a deep breath. He sounded shaky and he was still panting, but soon enough he was breathing again.

"Put him on speaker." Lydia said, and Derek did so.

"Stiles," Lydia said into the phone. "Tell us where it hurts."

Stiles took a few moments to reply. "My. . . l-left side. My head and my shoulder t-too, but my. . . my side is the worst."

"What does it look like? A bruise, or bleeding?" Lydia asked.

"I can't move to see it. I'm p-pinned to. . . the seat."

"Pinned how? Is something leaning on you or. . ."

Malia's face twisted. "Or what?"

"P-pinned," Stiles replied. He sounded breathless. "Somethings g-going through m-my side."

"Oh, damn it," Lydia groaned. She ran a hand through her hair, breathing deeply for a few seconds as if she was mentally coming up with a plan. "Right, Stiles, I need you to try and take a picture of your side and send it to me. Okay? I need to see whats going through."

"O. . . okay," Stiles muttered, stifling a groan.

"He doesn't sound too good." Isaac said unhelpfully.

Derek could hear that perfectly well, and he didn't need reminding.

"We need to call fire and rescue," John said, already pulling out his radio. "He's going to need an ambulance."

"No, not yet," Lydia said, and the entire pack looked to her in confusion. "If they come, they might end up making the car fall."

"Lydia, its their job to save people in situations like this," Isaac sniped. "They're called professionals for a reason."

"John, I know how they'll work with a solution like this. They'll try sending down a team with grappling hooks or something, but that will only disrupt the soil beneath the car and drop it like a hot brick. They'll kill him. Plus, if we bring them out here, then you guys can't use any of your supernatural abilities to help him." Lydia shot back. Her voice was becoming tight and strained.

"What are you suggesting then, Lydia? That's my son down there."

"I know, don't you think I'm worried too?" Lydia hissed. She took a breath, as if realising who she was talking to. "I just don't think that the fire and rescue team are going to find any solutions to this. He's literally sitting on a freaking cliff edge."

"Then what do we do?" Derek asked. "What can we do that professionals can't?"

"I have an idea, but I'm not sure if it will work." Lydia said, looking at each member of the pack.

"No. No, no, no!" John shook his head frantically. He looked frustrated and annoyed, the emotions seeping into his tone. "You are not doing a plan that you not 'sure' will work when my son's life is on the line!"

"Sheriff, please—" Lydia was cut off by the ping of her phone. Her face paled.

"What? What is it?" John took the phone, staring down at the screen.

"Oh, hell."

"So it's, um, good news?" Stiles voice piped through the speaker, and Derek hadn't even realised that he was still on the phone.

"Stiles, it looks like you've been impaled by a piece of metal from the roads guardrail."

"Oh," Stiles panted. "It’s excellent news then?"

Lydia didn't take her eyes off the photo, staring intensely with narrowed eyes. "From the colour of the blood and the position of the metal, your body has been able to clot off."

Scott sighed. "Lydia, speak _English_."

"It basically means the metal is stopping him from bleeding out. Best scenario until we can get him to a hospital." Lydia replied exasperatedly. She looked at the phone again. "Stiles, this means you have to stay still. No movement at all."

"Have you forgot I have ADHD?"

"Well, find a way to stay still," Lydia snapped. "Stiles, the metal is dangerously close to your spleen."

"I thought we don't need the spleen?" Scott asked suddenly.

"We don't, but its basically a giant sack of blood," Lydia sighed. "And its never good to loose a giant sack of blood."

A groan came through the phone, and the sound of stiff shifting. Derek could hear the rabid beat of Stiles' heart as it shot up.

"Stiles, I know it hurts but do not move. Okay? You gotta stay with us here." Lydia demanded.

"We could climb from the bottom. If we work our way up, we won't disturb the top soil, right?"

"That would work, accept thats at least a half mile hike, plus getting there. I don't know if Stiles has that long."

"You can't come from below," Stiles suddenly said through the phone. He was panting still. "Your foot steps will shift the rocks holding the Jeep up. And no. . . I don't think I have that long."

Derek didn't like the way Stiles said his last line. Not at all.

"Okay, we need a plan of action," Lydia started. "I think I know a way we can get him out. If we can find seem rope, on of us could absaile down the rock face to the side of the Jeep, so the soil around the car isn't shifted—"

"If we phone fire and rescue, can't they just get a helicopter to go out there? Someone could be lowered from that and get him straight out of the car."

"No, that won't work," Lydia shook her head. "The helicopter would create too much disturbance and the pressure of the propellers and the wind it makes will push the jeep straight over the edge. We need to find a way to go in from the side—"

"Won’t that shift the soil?"

"It might, but its the only option. Isaac, go with Malia and picked up Liam and Mason. Grab some rope, lots of it."

Isaac nodded and followed Lydia’s demand, walking away with Malia.

Lydia sighed. "Okay, Stiles, hang in there. We might have found you a way out."

"Okay. I’ll just. . . wait." Stiles’ heavy breathing rustled through the phone, the speaker crackling.

"You’re going to be fine, son," John said, and Derek didn’t miss the waver in his voice. The only thing, if Derek noticed it, then Stiles definitely did.

"Dad," Stiles panted. "I’m. . . I’m sorry we kept you in the dark so-so long. I didn’t. . . I didn’t want to lie to you b-but I wanted to keep you s-safe. We already lost mum and I—" Stiles heaved a shaky breath. "I c-couldn’t loose you too."

"I know," John said. "I know, kid. You don’t have to—"

"And you. . . y-you have to promise me you won’t do anything stupid if today. . . ends badly. Okay, dad? You can’t. . . you shouldn’t deal with it alone. You need to stick with Scott ’n Mel. Promise me, dad."

"Stiles, why—"

" _Dad_ , promise me."

John sighed, but it didn’t sound exasperated. It sounded more confused and emotionally strained. "I promise, Stiles."

"G-good." Stiles whispered.

"Whats this about, kid?"

"I just don’t want there to be any secrets anymore. I don’t want you to not know things. . . things you need to know."

Derek didn’t like how Stiles had been talking. He didn’t like how he was telling his dad how not to act if he dies today, and the way he said it, sounded like he was pretty sure of the outcome.

"Stiles, what happened? How did you go over the edge?" John asked, and Derek suddenly realised that no one had asked that yet.

"I, uh. . ." Stiles trailed off. "There was a deer. . . in the road, and I, uh. . ."

Derek sighed, finally noticing the black tire tracks on the road and putting the two together. Stiles had driven off to avoid hitting a fucking deer.

"I swerved to avoid it and, uh, I guess I didn’t break in time."

"You guess you didn’t break in time?" Lydia said, eyes narrowing.

Stiles chuckled. "Yeah, I—"

" _God_ , Stiles!" Derek shouted, his heart was racing. "How could you be so _stupid?"_

"I’m sorry! I couldn’t—"

A beep suddenly whooped through the phone and before anyone had a chance to ask, Stiles' frantic voice came through.

"My phones dying— s-shit!" Stiles suddenly said. "Guys, I gotta—"

"No!" Lydia shouted urgently. "Stiles! You can't—"

The phone cut off before Lydia could finish.

"Shit! Shit, no," Lydia shouted, tappin furiously at the glass screen.

Derek looked over the edge at the jeep. Without the phone call, Derek felt like Stiles was a million miles away.

A tight panic was twisting in his stomach, pulling harshly like a cramp. He felt sick and dizzy, emotions high and nervous. He felt a whirlpool of panic rushing through his veins because the thought of Stiles plummeting to his death in a metal box made Derek literally want to shift and howl.

"Get him back!" Derek shouted. "Lydia, God _dammit_ , call him back!"

"I'm trying! It just keeps going to voicemail." Lydia cried, frantically dialling Stiles' number and fruitlessly holding the phone to her ear.

Derek could hear the empty tone of the answer machine asking Lydia to record a voicemail.

Suddenly, Derek hard a crackling coming from the sheriffs cruiser. He frowned, listening in to what sounded like rustling, a robotic hum. With a start, he realised it was the radio.

"The radio!" He shouted, moments before Stiles' voice came rasping through.

"Dad? Derek? Someone! Is anyone—"

Derek didn't realise he was sprinting towards the cruiser until it was suddenly in front of him and he was yanking the door open, snatching the radio speaker and bringing it to his lips.

"Stiles? Stiles!"

"Derek? It. . . it worked!" Stiles said in triumph.

Derek let out a long breath, filled with relief, smiling widely. "You genius."

John was suddenly beside him. "Stiles?"

"Hey, dad."

"God, kid. I've never been happier you installed that freaking radio into your jeep." John grinned.

"Coming in handy now, ay?" Stiles laughed, and it sounded. . . good. It sounded good and its the first thing that had actually warmed Derek's chest since the moment he found Stiles.

"How you feeling, kiddo?" John asked.

Stiles took his time replying. His harsh pants coming through the receiver. "I've. . . been better."

John exchanged a taught look with Derek.

They were interrupted by Lydia and Scott running over.

"Stiles," Lydia began. "I need you to tell me if you can reach the passenger door from where you are. But, make sure you don't move your abdomen."

"Okay," Stiles said, which was followed by some grunting and a sharp intake of breath. "N-no. . . I c-can't reach it."

"Okay, thats fine, Stiles. Just—"

Lydia was cut off when a startled cry and the sound of metal groaning boomed through the radio. It was so loud it cracked and Derek flinched at the sharp sound.

"Stiles!" They all shouted in unison. That wasn't only a scream of fear, but also a scream of pain.

More cries came through, and it was enough to have Derek and Scott running to the edge of the cliff. They looked over, seeing the Jeep jerking and shifting, the ground beneath it crumbling.

"Stiles!" Scott shouted in panic.

As if a small miracle had happened, the jeep stopped shifting, the soil beneath it finally settling.

But Derek could still hear Stiles' cries, his harsh breaths and rabbiting heartbeat. The pungent smell of blood, sour and coppery, finally hit Derek's senses.

Shit.

"Stiles, talk to us. What is happening?" He could hear Lydia stringing demands through the radio in a flurry of panic.

"I. . . I—" Stiles began but promptly cut himself off with a cry. Derek didn't need to be beside the radio to know Stiles was in serious pain and something horrible had happened in that split moment while the Jeep had moved.

"Come on, kiddo," John urged. "Talk to us. Tell us whats going on."

"The metal—" Stiles panted. "It's. . . c-come out."

Double shit.

Derek could sense Lydia's sudden waves of worry rolling off her from the cruiser.

"Oh— God. It's bleeding. . . its bleeding r'lly bad, Lyds," Stiles murmured. His voice got quieter, trailing off slowly.

"The shard of guardrail must have been in the spleen. The blood coagulated around it and now it's been ripped out." Lydia muttered, probably more to herself than to anyone.

Stiles breathed heavily. "Lydia—"

"Shut up, Stiles," She snapped. "If the metal has come out, then you have promptly about five minutes before you bleed out."

Derek and Scott shared a look of pure panic and worry before the pair sprinted back to the cruiser.

"Oh G-God," Stiles murmured. He sounded incredibly tired and dread picked at Derek like icicles.

"Stiles, you need to put pressure against the wound, do you hear me?"

"I am," Stiles slurred. The sudden weaken in his tone was alarming. "It's not. . . it's not working."

"Hey, Stiles! Stiles, listen to me. Do not close your eyes, do you understand? Seriously, Stiles, you gotta stay awake."

The only response was a hum. They were loosing him.

"We need to cauterise the wound," Lydia announced. She had a new look of determination on her face, and it would have been reliving if the silence on the other end of the radio wasn't so daunting.

"Stiles, you need to stop the bleeding," Lydia said. "I'm going to walk you through it, okay? Stiles, are you with me?"

It took a beat to long for Stiles to reply, and when he did, his voice was borderline lucidity. "M'kay."

"Stiles, you need to stay with me. Do not close you're eyes, Stilinski, or I will come down there and kick your ass."

"If you could come down here then we wouldn't be having this problem." Stiles shot back, and Lydia promptly dropped the idea.

"Whatever. Stay awake," She said. "I need you to find a thin bit of metal."

"Lydia, what—"

"A pen or something, and hurry."

After more scuffling, the sound of the car creaking and moaning before Stiles' voice filtered through again. "M'kay, I see a pen."

There was sudden hitch in the radio, blarring a worrisome squeak.

"Stiles?" Lydia yelled in alarm.

A follow of metallic creaks and groans filtered through.

"M' here, 've got the pen." Stiles whispered.

"Good, now, I need you to find something hot, like a cigarette lighter or something."

"I don't. . ." Stiles began but trailed off. For a split second, Derek flooded with panic that he'd passed out, but then he was speaking again. "D'n't worry, 'm found one."

"Okay. Heat the end of the pen. It needs to be hot, but not glowing red hot. Got it?"

Stiles only murmured in response, the sound was barely there. The sound of laboured breathing was the only thing to listen to for a short while.

"Come on, kid." John muttered, and the sound of his tone made Derek's wolf whine.

He had no idea what Lydia was planning, but the sound of Stiles' slow, ragged breaths rattling through the radio made him fully on edge. He wasn't ready to loose Stiles. He'd never be ready.

"M'kay," Stiles finally said. He sounded so tired. "Its hot."

"Good. Right, now, Stiles, this is the rough part. You're going to need to put the hot pen into the entrance of the wound. You're going to keep pushing until the pen, past the ribcage and until it hits the spleen—"

"What the fuck?" Scott blurted, and for once, Derek couldn't agree more. Lydia had officially lost her freaking mind.

"How. . . how will I know it's the spleen?" Stiles panted.

"The pen will stop moving and you'll feel pulses." Lydia answered.

"Oh, god," John groaned. He looks pale and sick.

"When you feel the spleen," Lydia continued. "touch the organ with the metal in short little bursts. It'll stop the bleeding and preserve the tissue."

A breathless moan came from the other side and it took all of Derek's willpower not to jump over the ledge of the cliff right now and drag Stiles out of the jeep himself. He was a werewolf, and even for him, the task Lydia was asking Stiles to do would be impossible for him himself.

"You can do this, son," John encouraged, though the older man looked as nervous and uncomfortable as Derek did.

"Come on, Stiles," Scott urged with him.

Moments later, a scream tore through the radio. The sound of Stiles grunting and groaning in pain came through, sobs as well. Derek could hear, not only through the radio, but from enhanced hearing and it was horrific. Stiles was crying, small screams and groans. Stiles must have shifted in pain, because seconds later the sound of the jeep sliding scraped through.

"Stiles," Lydia said, panicked. "No matter how bad it hurts, you gotta stay still."

Stiles continued to groan and cry.

"Scott. . ." he grunted, voice laced with pain and suffering. "Remember the time. . . tenth grade when you and me told our parents that we were. . . st-aying at each others houses . . .when we were actually going to camp in the field b-behind. . . Gregory's farm just outside Beacon Hills?"

"Yeah, Stiles. I remember," Scott replied, his lips quirking upwards.

"D'you remember how we. . . tried to m-make, uh, a fire. . . and it wouldn't work. . . so we p-put a lit m-match on the ground?"

"How could I forget?" Scott laughed.

"And t-then before we kn-knew it. . . the w-whole field was on. . . fire and. . . we ended up sl-sleeping on the school f-field," Stiles let out a breathless laugh, groaning as he did so. "It was c-cold and we didn't have. . . have our sleeping stuff because we'd. . . d-ditched them in. . . in the field."

"I remember every minute of it, Stiles," Scott answered. "Because the next morning our parents screamed at us for forty minutes and swore we were grounded until we went to college, and yet two nights later you were staying at mine and we tried to climb on the roof."

Stiles panted through the speaker. "That was one of the best weekends. . . of my life."

"Stiles," Lydia said. "Take the pen out now, and look — carefully — if the bleeding has stopped or slowed."

Cries and grunts followed, moments of scuffling and metal groaning.

"I think. . . I think its s-stopped." Stiles panted.

"Good," Lydia said. She sighed, breaking a smile. "Well done, Stilinski."

"Nice work, Lyds," Scott said, patting Lydia on the shoulder.

"The way he keeps telling stories from when he was younger, it's like he's at his own wake," John sighed.

"We gotta get him out of there," Derek said, voice hushed so Stiles won't easily hear. "He might be giving up."

They all exchanged worried looks.

"Wheres. . . wheres Malia and Isaac? Thought they were getting rope?" Stiles asked. He sounded somewhat better, like he'd caught his breath.

Lydia shook her head. "I don't know. They should be back soon."

"Is there no way we can climb down and help him now?" Scott asked. "You said we shouldn't call the fire and rescue incase we needed to use our supernatural abilities to help him, but all we've done is sit up here and wait. We can't wait any longer, Lydia!"

"I know, Scott. But just because you're a werewolf doesn't mean you'll survive jumping off a freaking cliff. Plus, if you climb down now, without rope or the other help, you'll only push the jeep over the edge. We need to wait—"

Scott cut her off shortly. "No, what we need is to get some real help out here—"

"Scott, calm down." Derek said, but his statement went unnoticed.

"We need to phone an ambulance now, get some professionals out here because Stiles was literally minutes away from freaking bleeding out then, Lydia!"

"Yes, Scott. I am completely aware of that, in fact, I was the one who _saved_ _him_. So some gratitude and some fucking patience would be nice right now." Lydia snapped. "Malia and Isaac will be back soon, _then_ you guys can go down and get Stiles. Okay? Just _wait_."

Scott sighed. His eyes glistened with tears. "Okay." He whispered. Voice fragile.

The tension drained out of the atmosphere, leaving it horribly empty and thin.

"Guys, guys, somethings. . . s-somethings wrong— the jeeps—"

"Stiles? Stiles, what is it?" John shouted through the radio.

The sound of crackling reached Derek's ears, he perked up, running to the cliff edge.

The front of the Jeep was smoking, spewing out grey clouds, hints of orange flame peaking out of the bonnet. Derek couldn't see much as the head of the car was pointing down, but it was enough to get him panicked.

"If that flame gets to the gas tank, the whole car is going up." Scott said, standing at Derek's side. The pair shared a look before marching back to the pack by the cruiser.

"We need to get him out of there," Derek practically growled. "Now."

The sound of Stiles' coughing hacked though the radio. It sounded rough and chest shaking. Derek resigned himself from thinking how the movements might agitate the metal in his side.

"Guys. . .n-not to p-pressure anyone, but, uh, it would be really g-good if someone could. . . get me out of here now," Stiles groaned. "Seriously. . . this thing is going to go up in s-seconds."

"Shit," Lydia cursed. "Stiles—"

"I don't. . . I r-really don't w-want to be burned alive," Stiles stuttered. His breaths sounded short and shallow.

"Stiles, calm down. We're gonna get you out, we're just working on it."

"Well, work faster!" Stiles snapped. He coughed more, groaning. "I c-can't. . . breath."

"Derek," Lydia turned to him. "Keep him talking and calm. I'm gonna phone Malia and Isaac and find out where they are."

Derek didn't have a moment to think before Lydia was shoving him into the passenger seat of the cruiser.

"Stiles," Derek said after a moment. The cracking noise of harsh breathing was coming through the radio.

"I don't want to die down here, Der."

The cracked voice drove a dagger into Derek's heart. This was his love. His mate. The human- and it was the humanness that Derek loved, the humanness that Derek feared, because it made him so incredibly fragile, and now that fragility threatened to take his life. Stiles didn't deserve this. Stiles was the one who cried during sad movies, the one who dropped everything and anything to help someone because he was so stupidly loyal and brave. Derek was forever stunned by the lengths Stiles would go to to save the people he cares about, putting himself in danger as a result but not backing down one inch. Stiles protection and care for the pack, despite his lack of supernatural enhancements, and Stiles never let them exclude him from battles because of it. Stiles had been put through a wringer the last year, with the nogitsune trauma and grief of Allison. But yet, Stiles came out the other side, still holding his beloved baseball bat and running had first into battle. He still supplied the pack with flawless plans, coming up with impossible ways to protect and defeat. Stiles wasn't only Derek's anchor, but the packs anchor. Everyone needed him, for his sarcasm to lighten the mood or his underlining sacrifices to make sure everyone around him was still okay. He may he human, but he was a damn hell strong one.

So hearing him sound so broken and defeated, Derek just couldn't handle it.

"You're not going to die," Derek said. His tone came out solid and slightly cold, but he wasn't sure if he was angry or scared by this point. "Do you understand? You. Will. Not. Die. Not today, not tomorrow, not next week or next month because you are Stiles Stilinski. You are a survivor, and you have battled far worse things than this. Okay? You can do this, Stiles, just a little longer. And I promise, as soon as you're better, I'm going to take you to the most expensive restaurant and buy you the biggest portion of curly fries I can find."

Stiles chuckled a breathy laugh. "I could really use some curly fries right now."

Derek smiled. "Not too long now."

Stiles' shallow breaths filtered through the radio, the only sound filling the cruiser.

"Talk to me, Stiles," Derek said. Worry gripped at him. Stiles was never silent.

"Never thought I'd hear you say that." Stiles murmured. He sounded dangerously breathless.

"Well, I'm saying it now so, please, pester me with your annoying rambling so I know you're alive."

"You love my rambling."

Derek smiled again. "Yeah. . . yeah I guess I do."

The sound of a oncoming engine distracted Derek’s senses. Moments later, Malia's car sped around the corner, skidding to a halt before four bodies jumped out, arms of rope juggling as they ran over.

"Took your time," Lydia said tightly. "We need to tie the ropes to the trees along the side of the road. You’re going to use them to assail down the rocks until you come to the side of the jeep. You’re all going to have to hold onto the car, but do not go underneath it or you’ll get crushed, while someone else goes in from the top and pulls Stiles out."

"That doesn’t sound—"

"It’ll work. Trust me." Lydia cut the sheriff off once again.

"Holy shit," Liam and Mason breathed in sync when they saw the chaos of Stiles’ jeep over the cliff.

Derek couldn’t agree more.

The pack got to work while John continued to speak to Stiles. They tied a rope, thick and sturdy onto the trees along the cliff side. The knotted it around the trunks, pulling hard to see if they’d come loose or snap. When all the ropes were tied tightly, they wrapped the other end of the rope around their waists, doing the same process to check it wasn’t going to break.

Lydia marched back over to the radio in the sheriffs car. "Stiles, you need to move into the passenger side of the car very carefully. Okay, Stiles, you can not jostle the car too much or you’ll go over that edge like a spec of dirt. Got it?"

"Lydia, I can’t—"

"You can, and you will, because this is the only way, Stilinski, and I will be damned if after all we’ve been through, a freaking car is what kills you," Lydia snapped. "So get your ass in the passenger seat and try to open the door. The guys will be down in a minute and a ambulance will be on its way."

". . . 'kay."

Lydia nodded, dropping the radio and running back to the wolves at the cliff edge.

"You guys know what you’re doing?" She asked.

They all looked uneasy, but Lydia clapped her hands together and took that as a 'yes'. "Good. Derek, you’re going down on top and pulling Stiles out of the car. Now, get down there before that thing blows up."

The sky was clouding with smoke now, grey and black. The jeep was barely visible.

Derek felt his heart lurch as he began to climb down. Every time a rock rolled out from under his feet, he felt his heart rate rocket up in the dread that it will knock the jeep over. The closer he got, the more Derek began to see how beat up the jeep really was. All the windows were smashed, decorating the hill face with shards of glass. The metal was dented and crushed, mushed together and twisted. The roof was dented in, as was the front of the car, the bonnet horribly squashed in on itself. Stiles had really done a number on his precious jeep. Derek doesn’t think, even if it doesn’t fall over the edge, that the jeep is even salvageable at this point.

The jeep was clearer and Derek was only a couple of meters above it, the rest of the pack inching towards the car from the sides when the jeep shifted, creaking dangerously and beginning to slide. Derek saw Stiles, through the gap where the window was meant to be, shuffling into the passenger seat, his face contorted in stuffed pain. Derek could hear the sharp intakes of breath, the groans of pain and the hammering heartbeat in his mates chest.

They needed to hurry.

"We’re coming, Stiles." Derek said, but he had no idea if Stiles could even hear him. He was in the cloud of smoke now, engulfed in the grey cloud.

"Guys—" Stiles began to say, but then the jeep moaned again and it began to slide on the rocks. It was inching closer to the rocks, and the pack were only just reaching the sides to hold it up.

Derek was beside the jeep, reaching for the handle of the passenger door handle when it moved again, literally dropping a inch so the handle was out of his reach. He cursed, moving down the rope some more and careful of his footsteps.

"Derek," Stiles panted, but Derek didn’t even look up. He slowly, so slowly, unlocked the door and opened the door inch by inch. The car moaned and shifted, but the pack were holding it up now. The groaned with it, and Derek was sure someone asked him to hurry.

"Come on, Stiles," Derek said, once the door was open. Stiles was barely in the passenger seat, his legs stretched over the console. Derek reached in, his hands finding grip on Stiles’ shirt to help pull him out when the jeep jerked again, this time falling a considerable amount.

Stiles cried out from the movement, and slipped out of Derek’s grip.

"Damn it," Derek growled. He leaned further, grabbing Stiles and — slightly roughly —wretching him out of the car before it could fall anymore. The moment Stiles’ legs were out of the passenger side, the pack let go of the car and it dropped like a hot rock off the cliff edge. They barely had time to register it as the ground was literally falling out from under their feet.

The rocks crumbled, falling like an avalanche. Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles’ middle, forgetting about his wound. Stiles had one arm wrapped around Derek’s neck, the other one stuck between their pressed chests. Their legs were dangling, their entire life lines hanging from a piece of rope wrapped around a tree.

Derek looked up when the rocks stopped falling, though there was literally nothing under his feet now. He saw Lydia and John standing at the top of the cliff, staring down at them.

It took a lot of effort, especially as he now had Stiles in his arms, but Derek managed to pull himself and Stiles back up, using the rope. The pack were ahead of him, reaching the cliff top before Derek and Stiles. When they got up, they quickly grabbed Derek’s rope and began pulling to help him.

Derek climbed the last meter, and when he finally got to the safe ground, he let out a heavy breath. Stiles was practically a dead weight in his arm, and he didn’t hesitate to wrap his other arm around him once he could let go of the rope.

"Lay him down." Scott said, helping Derek lay Stiles down on the road.

Derek almost cried at the sight of his mate.

Stiles was white, his skin a ghostly pallor — almost ashen grey and bloodless. There was a cut on his hairline, his hair sticking and a trail of red blood running down the side of his face, contrasting horribly with the translucent skin. His forehead was coated in a sheen layer of sweat, glistening with the blood. Derek’s eyes ran over Stiles’ torso and he felt his heart drop. His abdomen was entirely drenched in crimson, as if someone had thrown a bucket of red wine at him. The sodden fabric of his t-shirt clung to his skin, rippling with the slight rise and fall of his breathing in a sticky, slippery blanket that tinged the air with a copper smell.

"Stiles." Derek took one of Stiles’ bloody hands, and the boys head turned to him with a boneless loll. His eyes were half lidded, blue bruises of half moons under then. His lip had a spot of blood on it, looking like a dribble of red syrup and Derek knew it was from where he’d most likely bit off a scream or a cry.

Stiles suddenly smiled. It was small and weak, but it was a smile. "Hey, s’rwolf."

Everyone crouched around him chuckled, letting out breaths of relief.

The sound of ambulance sirens made themselves known, blue and red lights flashing through the trees.

"You’re gonna be okay now, kiddo." John said, and Derek didn’t realise he was crying with the sheriff until he felt the wetness on his cheeks.

Stiles did nothing but smile gently. His eyes were drooping closed, and he squeezed Derek’s hand sightly.

And then he was swarmed with the paramedics and the pack were being pushed out of the way.

*

The police bugged them for statements when they got to the hospital, but thankfully the sheriff was distraught enough to call them off until the morning after.

When Derek burst through the emergency room doors, the pack hot on his heels, his first realisation was that the entire room was scented with Stiles’ blood. It made him feel nauseated, but the sight of the sheriff, moments away from crumbling in the hospital chair with his head in his hands, had Derek restraining himself.

Melissa was there seconds later. She informed them that the journey to the hospital was rough, and Stiles had in fact flatlined once before they even got him there, and that he was already in surgery.

Her words struck Derek harder than anything else has before. He felt like he’d been physically punched and flinched when the words 'flatlined' fell past Melissa’s lips.

His wolf howled the entire time in the waiting room. When the doctors finally appeared, they listed off a repetition of Stiles’ injuries that Derek couldn’t repeat or remember. The only ones that stood out were 'severe concussion, 4 broken ribs and a punctured spleen', but even then Derek felt completely lost. The doctors told them they had to wait for Stiles to wake up, and only the sheriff was allowed into see him.

Derek lost count of the hours he sat in the waiting room, stomach twisting with anxiety. Despite the surrounding of the pack, he was far from relaxed and at ease. His mate, his boyfriend, his soulmate was in another room, unconscious and possibly in pain, and there was nothing Derek could do but wait. It had been a close call, too close to them loosing Stiles and Derek couldn’t stand it. He wanted to wrap Stiles in bubble wrap, lock him in a padded room where he’d forever be safe from harm, but at the same time Derek loved seeing Stiles sitting at his desk, gnawing on the end of his pen with his eyebrows furrowed in concentration, may that be on research or homework, it didn’t matter because it made Derek fall in love with him all over again. Derek wanted to go back to that. He wanted in to curl up in bed with Stiles, unharmed and alive, tucked in his arms.

The door opened, and Derek’s head snapped up in time to see Liam walk in, hands clasped around the strings of various balloons.

"He awake yet?" Liam asked, and Derek shook his head.

"You bought balloons." Isaac said, looking at Liam blankly. Derek could sense Isaac’s worry and angst, so he wasn’t surprised at the sarcasm in his voice.

"Everybody likes balloons." Liam replied, holding the string with both hands like a child.

"What’s he gonna do? Knock 'em around the room with his broken ribs and punctured spleen?" Isaac said, waving a hand for emphasis.

Liam swallowed, looking disappointed almost. Lydia placed a hand on the younger wolfs shoulder.

"It was a sweet thought." She said with a soft smile. She looked exhausted herself, pale and hair messy. Derek knew he had so much to thank her for, but he didn’t have the heart in him right now.

The door opened again, and this time it was a doctor.

"Stilinski?" The woman asked, and everyone stood up.

"What gave it away? The balloons?" Isaac said, and Derek saw out of the corner of his eye when Lydia cuffed him in the back of the head.

"How is he?" Derek asked, stepping forward and ignoring Isaac’s comment. His wolf was panting now, clawing at the cage to be beside his mate.

"He’s tired and weak, but stable. He woke up a few minutes go but its past group visitation times, so if you want to see him, it’ll have to be quick." She said, motioning them as she walked out. Derek didn’t need to wonder where Melissa was, because Scott had informed her she’d been in with Stiles during the surgery and was no longer on duty.

They were lead through the maze of the hospital before she stopped outside a closed door to a private room.

Derek didn’t wait for her before he opened the door to find Stiles laying on the bed before him.

Stiles turned his head away from John, who was sitting at his bedside, and grinned. "Hey, guys."

Derek let out a breath he had no idea he was holding before he rushed forward, going to his side the sheriff wasn’t occupying.

"You scared the crap out of me." Derek said, but he smiled because Stiles was there and he was alive.

"You scared the crap out of all of us," Lydia said, the rest of the pack gathering at the end of his bed. "Don’t do that again."

Stiles gave a breathily chuckle. "Not planning on driving off anymore cliffs any time soon, don’t worry," his grin got impossibly wider. "Hey, you brought balloons."

Liam gave Isaac a shit-eating grin, "See?"

Derek turned back to Stiles, running a hand through his unruly hair. "How are you feeling?"

Stiles looked at him with big, doe eyes and Derek tried not to get sucked into the hypnotising swirls of whiskey and cinnamon. "Been better, but 'm okay."

"Okay," the doctor said at the door, "It’s morphine time, which means he’s gonna be out like a light in a about a minute."

Lydia walked round the bed then, grabbing Stiles’ hand and squeezing. "We’ll see you when you’re better."

Stiles smiled, dopey and lopsided. Derek had long learnt the dynamics of Lydia’s and Stiles’ friendship, underlining that all it was was a _friendship_. Despite Stiles’ intensive high school crush on the girl, it had long grown out and Stiles had proved more than once that his heart was bound to Derek and no one else.

Slowly but surely, the pack clambered out of the room. Lydia left first, followed by Isaac and Malia who shot Stiles warm smiles. Scott came to Stiles’ side, squeezing his shoulder.

"I’ll come and see you tomorrow with mum," Scott said, and Derek could smell the sadness radiating off him. He felt slightly guilty for not realising how affected Scott must have been from this all, seeing his best friend and brother in such horrific condition.

Stiles grinned sleepily. "'ight, buddy."

Liam was the last to leave, shuffling and placing the balloons on the window beside the bed sheepishly. Stiles laughed, mumbling a 'thanks' and Derek knew it did wonders to Liam’s scent, making the young wolf happy and content before he left the room.

Stiles’ head lolled towards Derek, his eyes big and unfocused. Derek looked at him then, closely, picking out every flaw. He was pale, eyes bruised with purple half-moons from the days exhaustion. His face was littered in small cuts and bruises, a large, stitched gash on his hairline. The blanket covered the majority of the bandages, but Derek could still smell the bitter scent of blood, antibiotics and the mild pain.

"'m sorry I scared you." Stiles murmured. His eyes were drooping now, shoulders completely lax from the drugs swimming in his body.

"It doesn’t matter now," Derek said, taking his hand and squeezing the cold skin. "As long as you’re okay."

"Yeah," Stiles replied, smiling. "'m okay."

Derek leaned forward and kissed the cool forehead, his lips brushing over the skin. He sat back in time to see Stiles’ heavy eyelids droop shut, to listen to his breathing even out and the heart monitor to slow.

— fin


End file.
